Mafia Captive by Kitty Thomas EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Kitty Thomas
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
Seven months earlier…
FAITH HUDDLED in a dumpster surrounded by garbage, her breath coming in
quiet, desperate gasps. Heavy boots thudded nearby. Please keep moving.
Please please keep moving. Her face was wet from silent tears gliding down
I should never have gone this way. She’d almost stayed home, snuggled
in bed with her cat, a sappy movie, and a bowl of popcorn. But it was too
pathetic for a Friday night—especially so close to Christmas when she was
all alone. The general holiday malaise and depression had already started to
set in, and it was only the first week of December. Grudgingly she’d gotten
dressed and met some girlfriends at a club. But the others had wanted to party
later than she had.
It was only a few blocks to a subway station. She’d comforted herself
with knowledge of the pepper spray tucked away in her purse—the pepper
spray her pursuer now had possession of.
Faith closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sound of the shot, the image
of the body falling, her stupid gasp that had turned sharp eyes on her.
She hadn’t had the presence of mind to retrieve the mace before he’d
grabbed her purse. But with the way the wind was blowing tonight, it would
have just as likely blown into her eyes as his. And then where would she be?
Just another corpse.
The footsteps stopped. His breath sounded as if it were blowing right in
her ear. His cologne put him in the cramped, dark space with her, drowning
out the scent of rotting food and alcohol. He was a professional, not some
random street tough. Poor, desperate people didn’t bother with cologne. And
if they did, it wouldn’t have been such an expensive brand.
She bit back a scream until it rattled around and echoed so loud in her
mind she feared he’d hear it. There was a snick of a lighter and then cigarette
smoke filled the air.
It was like he was trying to smoke her out—as if he knew she couldn’t
stand the stench. He took drag after drag as she watched the faint light
through the cracks of her metal cage. He was toying with her.
She heard the pull of a zipper, and for one sick moment thought it was his
pants. But the sound that followed was the snap of a wallet being opened. Her
“Faith Jacobson. 580 Flatbush Avenue. Brooklyn.” His voice was
relaxed, casual, because murder was casual to him.
She didn’t want to stereotype, but a nicely dressed Italian man in
Brooklyn standing over a dead body required no leaps of logic. This guy had
mob written all over him. Letting go of the purse had been necessary to save
herself, but now he knew who she was and where she lived. For a moment
she continued to pretend he didn’t know she was in the dumpster. She tried to
think about where she could go, how she could stay safe from someone who
would no doubt relentlessly pursue the only witness to his crime.
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